


Take This, Rock And Roll Refugee!

by JaeNunyah



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaeNunyah/pseuds/JaeNunyah
Summary: Cameron's request for Dave as Roger's slave.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 11





	1. Pretty Pig

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've posted here before Rockfic. If interested in how it came about, I refer you to "comments" under "Daisy Chains and Laughs". At first thought I could only manage if it were a dream/fantasy, as this is not a pairing I "see" (if it were a DREAM, there could have been sex, since even Roger can't control his sleeping subconscious...maybe I'll get wild and write THAT, too, as companion piece), but hope I satisfied desire for not only Master/Slave trip but also "...very, very dirty talk as well". Wisher wanted "real life", so had to...ahem... tie it into my other works.

"Wake up, Pig, the day of reckoning is at hand!"

Vicious kick rattles entire bedstead as Roger's voice reverberates, rudely rousing. Dave is alone in his bed, but was blissfully accompanied in his dream, now slurring surly snap, suddenly stirred from sweet slumber. "Wha' th' FUCK r'you on about, Rog?" He bitches blearily toward backlit beanpole looming beside and above "It's the middle of the NIGHT."

"It is NOT." Roger coolly corrects befuddled bandmate. "It's three minutes past Greenwich-ordained sunrise, which means YOU are my personal property, from your curly tail to your pouty snout, until said sun sets. Although..." he acidly allows "...it's highly probable I shall get bored with you long before then and decide to sell you downriver."

"Oh, for Pete's sake..." Dave growls grumpily "...you can't REALLY be serious about that stupid 'slave' thing."

[How DARE he drag Pete's name into this? Wait, that's just an expression...oblivious ass hasn't a clue.] " '...stupid slave thing.' was YOUR fucking idea, idiot, and had YOU won the wager I've no doubt YOU would be serious about collecting payment from ME, now wouldn't you?" is Roger's rough rejoinder preceeding curt command "I give not whit one whether you shine, but you will RISE immediately."

Dave utters a loudly inarticualte noise of vexation before grumbling "S'poze you want me to cook you breakfast? Fetch your slippers, and maybe the morning paper, too?"

"Your cooking's a punishment, not a prize, and I've already READ the daily news, of both England AND America, while counting down." [Hmm, slippers is an idea, though...in his mouth like a good doggie. Maybe later.] Newspaper at issue is rolled into one fist, and Roger slaps it authoritatively upon open palm, punctuating punitive promise. "Lazy slaves will be beaten."

"All RIGHT, dammit..." Dave huffs, covers falling away from naked chest as he slowly sits up "...just get out and let me get dressed first."

Roger lashes out with tube of newsprint to slap Dave soundly upside sleepy head. "You fail to grasp the gravity of your position and your place, but I'm a merciful Master, and accept that you're not terribly bright even when...what passes for...fully alert. So..." he draws the word out suggestively, pausing for effect "...pay close attention. Further attempts to tell ME what to do will be met with escalating repercussion until you DO understand. You get two more swats with THIS..." a waggle of wordy weapon "...and then we move up to the belt. I don't think you want to learn what comes after THAT. Slave bounces bratty bottom from bed before I bestow Strike Two."

Dave's hope that Roger will recoil is dashed when eagle eyes bat not at all to behold brazenly bare obedience. The room remains dimly shadowed by illumination spilling in from hallway, and Dave is well aware this lighting combines with Roger's excellent night vision to put him on decadent display. "Get a good look, creep." he saucily sneers "Wait'll I tell everybody you did this just to cop an eyeful."

"You always WERE a slow learner." Roger sighs, rapping Dave's ear resoundingly with The New York Times. "Once freed from today's indenture, you're also free to spill any details you choose, but bear in mind that I have the same right, one which I am CERTAIN you will not wish me to excercise."

"I'll keep...this...to myself if you will." Dave tries not to cringe at the thought of Roger gleefully boasting of besting him "So, what do you want me to do first?"

Roger looks scornfully down his nose while waving empty hand theatrically before it. "THAT should be obvious. I want you washed. You reek of stale fags and beer-sweat." He stands aside and points with newsprint tube. "You'll have a VERY hot shower. Now."

Sauntering toward the door, Dave quips at Roger closely following "Speaking of used beer, I need a piss. Are you gonna watch?"

Roger nearly clouts him again for sheer sass, but graciously withholds. That HAD been a question, after all, and those are permitted. "I've seen you take a leak before."

"Not naked." Dave mutters, prompting curious response as they enter the bathroom together.

"What's the difference?" Roger flicks on overhead incandescence, and white-tiled room suddenly seems embarrassingly overbright to Dave, blinking owlishly while trying to formulate an answer.

"Ah, screw it, I'll just go in the shower." Dave knows Roger's angling to make him uncomfortable, and he's determined not to give satisfaction of squirm. "I usually do, anyway."

"So do I." Roger admits. [How might he react if I were to...?] "Perhaps I'll be moved to hose you down while you're in..." he chuckles, childishly offering nasty homophone "...urine."

"Don't you dare!" Dave defies, disgusted, ducking away from Roger's retaliatory swipe with newspaper, retreating into the shower stall and sliding frosted glass door closed between them.

Roger slams the sliding panel back along its track hard enough to shiver pane in frame, furiously whapping with wicked double-tap, striking both sides of Dave's neck in swift succession, snarling "You get TWO for flinching." He hurls punishing periodical behind him, observing fluttering folds unfurling like broken wings of crumpled origami bird before turning angry attention back upon Dave. "I promise you, my belt will HURT." is salaciously sneered, with overt fingering of buckle. "Tougher than YOU have cried." [He'll never know there's actually somebody who not only can take it but who also managed to take it AWAY from me...Wish I were playing with HIM. That magnificent man is NOBODY's slave.]

Dave affects insouciance as he opens waterworks, twiddling taps until satisfied spray is steaming but not scalding. "Do whatever you want. Prob'ly won't even feel it, anyway, and it'll wash right off."

[Damn, he called my bluff...and gave no cause for scourging stripe.] "I'm going to have a smoke." Roger loftily informs, importuning "While you have a piss all over your own feet. Be sure to lather lank locks, as well. I want you scrubbed sweetly, for I've a VERY pretty costume prepared." He stalks out, smirking aloud "I've always wanted to put lipstick on a pig."

*****

Dave's fingers have begun to prune and the water's become lukewarm when Roger determines he's waited long enough. "You've been hiding for half an hour of MY time, Slave." is commanded from outside the stall. "Get out, dry off, then come to the music room." Stern silhouette drifts away along with final admonishment "Oh, and brush your teeth."

"Why, do you want to kiss me?" Dave taunts above the spray before he shuts it off.

"I don't." Roger snaps, wondering if that's entirely true while stating the main reason. "Nor do I wish to whiff your morning breath." He walks away without another word or a backward glance.

Glad baleful bane's left him alone for a moment, Dave steps onto bathmat and snags towel from nearby rack, whispering "What have I gotten myself into?" while rubbing down, tucking terrycloth around his hips to approach the sink. Studying familiar visage in medicine-cabinet mirror, he murmurs "Lipstick?"

Standing beside piano bench, Roger mockingly taps staccato rythm with figertips upon handle of large black valise resting upon it, watching Dave emerge into view wearing only a damp towel and a nervously crooked smile.

"Gonna put me in drag, yeah?" Dave forces a laugh. "Well, whatever floats your perverted boat. I bet I look WAY prettier than those Monty Python cats."

Roger's amusement is genuine. "Most unwise, saying 'bet' to me while still paying off last gamble." He lifts fingers from carpetbag to snap them imperiously. "Come here."

Dave approaches with thinly veiled trepidation as Roger opens up the case to declare "Like a striptease in reverse.", withdrawing scant scrap which he reaches out to poke into tuck of towel. "These first."

Pulling silky fabric free, Dave unfolds a pair of sheer black knickers. "You're a sick puppy, Georgie." 

"Yesyes." Roger rolls his eyes patronizingly "Who's the dirtier dog, Dave, me for ordering or you for obeying? Care to poll the peanut gallery on THAT in-QUEER-y?" he archly interrogates, demanding "Put them on."

Dave is unable to curtail blush, but supresses squirm into simper, parodying shyness with exaggeratedly effeminate eyelash flutter, insisting "Turn around and shut your eyes."

"YOU turn around!" Roger barks, snaking belt so swiftly from loops Dave realizes he must have already had it unbuckled "And shut your mouth."

Dave obeys reflexively, thinking to flee out of range, but Roger's too fast. Searing stroke slashes across shoulders and scream erupts as he retreats a few steps further and turns to glare in furious seethe. "FUCK you, Roger! That REALLY hurt."

"Warned you it would." Roger calmly intones. [If he rushes me, this is going to get ugly.] "Although you HAVE earned Strike Two...again...for that disrespectful outburst, I suppose I can let it slide at only one. Now that you see how it feels, perhaps you won't require refresher."

"What I SEE is that you're a goddamn maniac!" Dave points angrily with one hand while cutching towel to him in clenched fist. "That's IT, I'm NOT playing anymore. Shove your slave contract up your bony butt!"

[Time for trump card. Will he prove more swine than man?] "If you renege on your agreement of service, I retract my vow of silence."

"Oh, who CARES?" Dave snarls "You got NOTHIN' on me. Go AHEAD and talk, it's not like anybody'll BELIEVE you."

"Think not?" Roger's voice is an oily ooze "Seem to recall from your own luscious lips once dropped the words 'you always tell the truth'. If a contrary thickwit like YOU knows that, can't you conceive of ANYbody who might care if I should start telling ALL the truth...publicly, repeatedly and well-seasoned with articulate, overt opinion?"

"That's blackmail. Even YOU wouldn't stoop so low." Precise nature of proposed exposure remains unspoken, yet looms large.

"It's extortion." Roger quibbles "The two are not exactly synonymous. I happen to believe going back on a gentleman's agreement is far lower than free airing of facts, and I will lose no sleep. How much do you really care about what...who...YOU stand to lose?"

Dave could kill the bitter bastard, but dares raise neither hand nor voice. [This isn't just about me...]

Sneering down from high ground, Roger is once more confident in superior vantage. "Put on your panties like a good little slave, and we'll forget this silly spat. I won't hit you again..." he smiles indulgently, flipping belt to drape around the back of his neck, buckle and tongue hanging down in front on both sides where he can easily grasp either before Dave could get close enough to attempt a clumsy snatch, were he foolhardy enough to try."...unless you make me."

Dave determines, since he was willing to do it before, he can man up enough to dress like a woman. He's actually kind of curious what else resides in bag of tricks, although he'd never admit it. Dropping towel desultorily to puddle around bare feet, Dave picks up first one then the other to step into silky, stetchy material, pulling knickers snugly up over bottom and bollocks, hoping if he can keep joking about this Roger won't be able to get off on it.

"What cup size is the bra?" Dave joshes with jocularity he does not feel. "What fruit you gonna make me stuff it with? Apples, grapefruits or melons?"

[Mymy, it must be Love after all, if he's enduring under duress.] "No bra." Roger rummages inside stash without taking his eyes from poorly-concealed embarrassment "And no false teats." He extracts heaviest article within and tosses it in underhanded lob. "THIS will create the illusion of them, once we cinch it up."

Catching cast garment, Dave is surprised at ribs of rigid solidity beneath black bodice adorned with pink ribbon rosettes. "What the fuck is this MADE of, whalebone?"

"Don't be stupid." Roger laughs lightly "Those kinds are antiques, and fabric's fragile on the old models even if I COULD have found one big enough to fit your fat. I had this made especially for you. The bones are Sheffield steel. It was exorbitantly expensive, so you really ought to thank me."

Dave turns unfamiliar undergarment over and over in his hands, seeing twin rows of winking grommets but no laces. "How does it...work?"

Snickering, Roger pulls out a garter belt and snaps elastic playfully, proclaiming "Trade me. I'm sure you can figure out how to put one of THESE on."

Dave isn't too sure about that, but he's taken more than a few OFF, so...They make the exchange, and Roger sits down upon the piano bench, draping corset over narrow knee before reaching back into bag, watching Dave fumble with hooks at his waist, suspenders dangling comically against hairy legs.

"Here." Roger holds out pair of black silk stockings topped with openwork lace, offering advice as Dave takes them truculently from his hand. "Seams go in the back."

Next from garment-bag emerges several yards of pink cord, unspooling like a magician's endless scarves before Roger begins to swiftly thread both tips at once in and out of tiny, reinforced holes. Dave can't help but admire deft dexterity, asking almost against his will "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Your Mum was a VERY generous teacher." Roger replies without breaking stride in his handiwork or even watching relentless weaving, eyes still fixed upon Dave pointing his toes into the second stocking and slowly rolling it upward to match the height of its mate.

This is humilating still, but another sensation creeps unbidden into Dave's discomfort as snaps bite into stocking tops. [What's this? Let's see...I feel sexy...What's come over me?] Blushing afresh, he stands with front suspenders affixed, admitting "I can't reach the ones...behind."

"You've got to sit down." Roger admonishes, tutting "Honestly, haven't you EVER watched a lady get dressed?" He pats padded bench beside him, continuting to lace up the corset.

"Guess I'd rather watch them get UNdressed." Dave declares, taking a seat and extending one leg to reach beneath it for awkwardly-positioned strap, finally managing to clasp clip, shifting position to repeat procedure upon other leg.

"Well, they're naked FIRST, aren't they?" is slyly smirked "Weren't YOU?" Without pressing for an answer, Roger commands action "Stand back up." before commencing lecture, exhibiting wide open cat's-cradle crisscross of pink on black. "Now, some newfangled ones have hooks in the front so you only need to lace them ONCE, then can just clip-clip-clip in and out yourself, but with this style you have to step in and wriggle it into place." he hands over exotic object and prompts "Go on, then."

Obeying, Dave is again amazed at Roger's exemplary eye for proportion. He's left it JUST open enough to slip snugly but need no tugging or loosening to pull past stiffening bulge in constricting knickers.

Roger notices torrid thickening, but pretends not to as he stands, slipping his hands around from behind to press ribs and rosettes against Dave's chest mere inches above the nipples, insinuatingly instructing "Hold it right there for me while I tie you up tight." [He's getting hard...might pop right out before laces are even tied off...panties are just a tad too small...he's bigger than I'd thought...never got a proper gander at goods all the way up...but I will soon. He was supposed to hate this, but I can work with him enjoying it. Different tack of torment.]

Wicked words incite illicit thrill as Roger's powerful fingers begin tightening laces simultaneously from bottom and top, pulling grommeted egdes together over no-longer-bare back until Dave gasps "I can't breathe!"

"How canst thou be out of breath when thou hast breath to SAY to me that thou art out of breath?" Roger reproves, raising a booted foot to plant squarely against rounded rump for leverage, pulling stoutly and steadily, scolding "You must've chubbed up since I provided measurements, Miss Piggy. You ARE the kind of pretty that runs fast to fat once you grow accustomed to money." he cruelly observes "Breadline waifs can seem so sexy, but plump into Rich Bitches right quick once they start getting porked by Mister Wright...and here I thought YOU were the one fucking HIM." He ties off the laces into intricate hitch HE could easily undo but won't be readily unraveled by anyone uninitiated to the trick.

Dave's ire rises anew although erection does not subside. "It's none of your business what WE do...or don't..." he flares, blazing both with arousal and abnegation, asking "What are YOU going to do...with me...now?"

[Oh, they're NOT fucking? Not what HE counts, anyway. I'd certainly say so, from what I've had to hear. Wonder what Rick would say...about that or this?] "Tell me what you WANT me to do." Roger darkly demands.

"Aren't you supposed to tell ME?" Dave implores, leaning in until the ribbons on his bodice brush against the taut cotton of Roger's shirt.

Head dipping down toward Dave's upturned lips, Roger hotly hisses across them "And why is THAT? Because I'm the Master?"

"Yes." Dave ardently agrees, pressing closer and closing his eyes.

Permitting friction of Dave's prick against his thigh, Roger whispers "And you're my slave?"

"Yes." is achingly avowed.

"SAY it, then." comes out a cold command as Roger steps backward. "Open your eyes, look me in the face and CALL me your Master. Tell me you're mine."

Swept up in sublime surrender, Dave parts lids and lips to passionately proclaim. "I'm your slave, Roger. You're my Master, and you can have anything you want." He slides one hand upward from where he'd rubbed himself upon lean leg to encounter a foreign hardness protruding alongside zipper.

Roger bursts into evil laughter and shoves greedy grope away so abruptly that Dave staggers onto piano bench in ungainly sprawl, nearly toppling off to the floor. "I just got it." he cackles, stretching up hem of shirt to reveal miniature microphone taped to his chest, thin cord snaking down to disappear into pants pocket where recorder continues to run. "You're an incredibly ignorant slut. Wish you could see how ridiculous you look. Better mind your P's and Q's, Porcine Queen, for the rest of your fucking LIFE,'cause now I DO have dish-worthy dirt. Perhaps I'll sample it into my solo album. This may come as a shock, but I DON'T WANT YOU, Dave, and if you EVER touch me again I'll do to you what I did to Syd."

Dave, reeling, wonders if he can entrap unsavory admission, making evidence equally incriminating. "What DID you do to Syd?"

[Pathetic...as if any of my...OUR...marvelous machinations were criminal.] "I delivered him...dressed much as you are now, albeit more cheaply, although he wore it better...into the eager clutches of Keith Fuckin' Moon. Syd had a lovely time...I somehow doubt YOU would. He was crazy beforehand, but a session with a REAL maniac might drive you right 'round a similar bend." Roger turns to stalk away, preparing to leave the house entirely and let Pretty Pig figure out how to extricate himself from beautiful bondage, meanly dismissing "Debt's paid. Game's over. Be free. Knew you couldn't amuse me for very long."

[Can't WAIT to play this tape for Pete...that'll serve some serious stimulation.]


	2. Dirty Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is...whether Wisher still wants it or not. When first asked to do Roger/Dave as Master/Slave, THIS is what sprang first to mind, but making it a dream was discouraged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helps to know "However Much I Booze", from THE WHO BY NUMBERS, a rare track where Pete sings lead.

"Master!" Beautiful blue eyes sparkle seductively, welcome warming with each step toward my implacable presence. "I've made sacrifices and prayed for your return."

"What might a slave have to sacrifice?" I ask mockingly, although burning with impassioned power as Dave kneels before me "Everything you could give is already mine..." Reaching to caress a lock of hair from bold brow, I lean down to bestow light lips atop bowed head "...for you belong to me."

"Yes, Master." is meekly acknowledged as beloved bed-slave grovels before my boots "I only live to serve you."

"You only live BECAUSE you serve me." I remind him, recollecting "When I first beheld you, filthy and impudent, lolling about in the ash below Vesuvius..."

Eager paws slip up my thighs and parted lips gleam, lit by flickering flame. "You wanted me, even then?"

"I didn't want you wasted. Potential glinted amidst the grime." Allowing him to wriggle wanton fingers inside my trousers, I nonetheless must proclaim superiority, sighing under tender touch "Once I had you washed...and castrated...you began to seem a much sweeter creature."

"You raise the blade...you make the change...I'm grateful you didn't take my tongue." Dave declares, proceeding to lap at my stiffened length, peeking playfully upward amidst lascivious little licks "Singing isn't all I need it for."

"You do elocute elegantly..." I admit "...if somebody smarter composes poetry and melody."

"It isn't just your words I need in my mouth."

This is proven as he takes me deeply, demonstrating devotion, but I can't make it too easy...can't give in to overwhelming sensation...

"Stop!" I command, thrilled at immediate obedience, watching as he patiently awaits my instruction. "Give me your own words now...such as they are. WHY do you serve me?"

"At first it was your brilliance," Dave deferentially offers "You shone like the sun and you spoke the truth. I feared to disobey."

"And now?" My garments melt away, leaving me bare while subservient slave remains clad in coarsely woven tunic, gazing up with naked need. "Do you fear me, still?"

"Now I fear to lose you. Whatever would become of me without your strong hand?" Fond fingers flit across my knuckles, tips tracing taut tendons, tickling to trace curve of wrist as flushed face inclines to slip my forefinger between slick lips in obscene parody of action I'd halted upon my prick. Shuddering utterance that erupts is almost a moan, for I'm finding this intimacy far more exciting.

"These hands have struck you." I tell him, feeling my knees weaken while watching withdrawn fingertip glisten. "And you took it."

"They stroke me, too." Dave whispers "One is well worth the other. Please, Master, won't you take me now?"

Brazenly arising, initiating embrace, he quivers ecstatically as I permit ardent arms to clasp me close and warm form to undulate against my own responding body. Beneath tunic's hem, my palms fill with firm flesh as I crush our hips together and gasp against luscious lips "You want me inside you?"

"More than anything." is winsomely whimpered...beautifully begged... "I'm nothing without you, and I need you to make me whole."

Now he's beneath me, accepting and adoring his proper place. "That's right, you NEED me to drive, don't you, Dirty Dave?"

"Yes, Master!" he yelps, eyes flying wide as I'm enveloped in sublime submission "I need you. I want you. I love you."

Such pleasure...the words more than the friction, although the former serves to intensify the latter. "Yes...yes...yesssss..."

*****

"NO!" Roger sits bolt upright amidst tangled sheets, horrified and ashamed to note pulsing ache below the waist as vile images linger.

[Where the fuck did THAT come from? I'm NEVER touching Remy Martin AGAIN.]

Flopping back down onto sweaty pillows, Roger wants to blame indigestion ...or insidious influence... but grudgingly ascertains and subsequently admits malignant mental manifestation is his own fault.

[No stretch for Sickman Fraud...I don't want Dave's lips or his love...I DON'T...but I do crave his obedience, and maybe I Really Want to cut off his balls. Repetition of 'need' arose because I feel unappreciated, and strange sex aspect was just, well, because I'm horny.]

Roger pulls himself together, resisting urge to take himself in hand, willing throbbing tumescence to subside.

[I WON'T jerk off with...that...still in mind. Engorgement ISN'T about Dave at all, okay? It's pointing at a better man with whom I DO desire indecent intercourse but who I know won't ever sincerely submit.]

His mind accepts, but his flesh remains fevered.

[There's no WAY I can go back to sleep without...]

Roger swiftly arises from bed, striding toward turntable with erection tenting the front of his shorts, seeking stirring sounds to banish bitter taste.

[HIS voice will scrub shame...too bad he makes Monkey mouth the best words. Not always, though...]

Having spun this track enough times to lay the needle precisely where he needs it, Roger returns to bed on wings of favorite tones, singing along as he envisions a far finer set of blue eyes than those obstinate orbs which had invaded his dreams.

"I lose so many nights of sleep worrying about my responsibilities/ Are the problems that screw me up really down to him or me?/ My ego will just confuse me/ Some day it's gonna up and use me/ Dish me out another tailor-made compliment/ Tell me about some destiny I can never prevent..."

Breath grows ragged as intensity of stroke increases.

"However much I squirm, there ain't no way out..." Roger groans, wishing he weren't alone. "Don't care what you say, Boy, there ain't no way out!"


	3. Witty And Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave takes matters in hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 of "Uncomfortably Dumb" tells what happens immediately after these events. "I Feel Pretty" is a number from WEST SIDE STORY, just in case anybody who cares doesn't already know.

"SCREW you, you twisted CREEP!" Dave snarls, wondering while reeling from unexpected shove if he dares attack to try taking back unbidden utterance.

[I'm stronger. If I can grab him, torrid tape gets stomped into smithereens, and so will smug, smirking smile.] 

"Dream on, Miss Piggy." is tossed flippantly back as Roger departs, bootheels thumping upon carpet then clicking across tile, stalking stride through slamming door.

[He's faster. Missed my chance. HOW did this happen? I didn't want it, but then I did...now I do?]

Dave hooks irate claws beneath straps of garter belt, wanting to tear away illicit costume, but curtails destructive urge as he hears engine rev then ebb.

[Bloody bastard can drive away after setting all this...setting ME...up? Said I look ridiculous, but what does Long, Tall and Ugly know, anyway? If I rip it off, I'll never see for myself...and I'll always wonder.]

Padding down the hallway on stockinged feet, Dave heads toward house's only floor-to-ceiling mirror, which dominates entire wall of his own bedroom. Slightly swaying step threatens to become a prance, and he can't help but wonder if high-heeled shoes had lurked in the bottom of Roger's big, black bag.

[They'd be the right size, too, just like the corset. When the FUCK did he take my measurements?]

Dave is halted in his tracks as he catches first sight of reflected silhouette, choked with astonished gasp to behold unbelievably becoming hourglass curves.

[Holy Moley, I've got tits! He called me fat, but LOOK at that waist! I'm gorgeous.]

Feminine facade fades as Dave slowly slinks nearer the mirror, realizing he doesn't truly look like a lady at all, although illusion of cleavage persists. Focus upon facial fuzz and evident erection detracts nothing from blazing beauty, however, and he wonders whether Roger had been tempted. 

[He tricked me. I wouldn't have...neverneverNEVER...played along without such nasty blackmail. He thinks we're already doing...that... and I did THIS so he wouldn't tell.]

With a muted mewl of mortification, Dave suddenly sees how he's been tied up tight in more ways than one. 

[What have I done? He DOES own me now...maybe forever. Rick could've endured exposure...probably...but if he hears Roger's racy recording I'll never be forgiven.]

Seething shame and roiling rage cannot banish lingering lust, making for a strange stew, indeed, as Dave continues to admire his fetching reflection. Fingers ripple, ruffling ribbon rosettes, sensually sliding down along strips of steel girding his flesh. Fondling fabric-sheathed bones of the corset leads one hand toward his own hardness, which has been straining against clinging cloth cage, stretching sheer material into translucent fog barely masking dick's distinct delineations.

[I know he saw...Hell, had to have FELT...we were so close. Thought he was gonna kiss me, and I would have let him...]

"Anything you want." Dave murmurs, misting the mirror with excited exhalations, caught up in a fevered fantasy of what might have transpired.

["What a lovely Slave you are." Roger praises, appraising gaze roving my decorative decadence, eagle eyes evidently enticed. "Obedience suits you even better than black lace."

He paces in a slow circle around me, playfully jingling the buckle of his belt before sharply snapping stern strip between fierce fingers.

"Please, Master..." I sweetly implore "...don't beat me. I've learned my lesson."

"You mean you've learned MY lesson." is rapped in curt correction as Roger raises the belt with both hands to reach behind me and wrap it around my diminished waist, using leather length to pull me tightly against him. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master." I sigh, turning up lips that this time he cannot refuse. He takes a kiss, but halts my tongue at the ivory gate of his teeth, denying entry yet permitting flickering attempts before drawing back just enough to peer probingly into my face while continuing to hold both ends of the belt, fists close against my hips.

"Your Mister Wright..." Roger insinuatingly interrogates "...he wouldn't want you this way, would he?"

"No." I abjectly admit, although relieved it's no longer a secret. "I have to be strong for him."

Roger's hands abruptly unclasp, dropping his belt to the floor at my heels then slipping smoothly to stroke me. "Mmm. A big part..." he pauses for suggestive squeeze "...of that strength is...standing up...to me, isn't it? Do you backchat ME just to get HIM all quivery over your bravery?"

"I really do hate you." is easy to say, and my honesty is rewarded rather than punished.

"Yet here we are." He bestows another kiss, proudly pronouncing us "Master and Slave."

"Not really." I dare, knees weakening and resolve crumbling under his caress "It's only a game."

"So it is." Roger acknowledges, combining cruel words with tender touch "One in which I hold all the..." fingers edging into knickers, salaciously shuffling "...cards, but which you nonetheless seem VERY eager to play."

I can feel his rampant rod raging against mine, emboldening encouragement for challenging contradiction "You said you don't want me."

"I lied." he casually declares, flattering "Who wouldn't want you?" before both hands swiftly shift to my shoulders, spinning me sideways and forcing me facedown across the piano bench. "You can keep defying me in public as long as you'll..." he kicks my feet apart and stoops low to breathe into my ear "...submit in private."]

Still watching in the mirror, Dave imagines Roger's triumphant visage looming over one bare shoulder as he growls in the grip of incendiary ideation.

"Take me!" erupts from his lips as helplessly as does explosive ejaculation from thickened prick, viscous spurts striking silvered surface.

Dave leans forward heavily, holding himself up with unenCUMbered palm against cool glass, watching sticky streaks dripping down. Embarrassment returns, along with furious confusion.

[I don't want that...don't want HIM...I DON'T!...but I do like the view.]

Tugging panties back up to cover softening cock, Dave sheepishly smiles at himself, softly singing Sondheim line.

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay."


End file.
